One of my favourite pastimes is to gripe about how our medical supply company packs my orders. But you see, they DESERVE it. I think the warehouse must be next door to an appliance factory because for three days in a row I got my daily shipment packed in a microwave oven box. Scuba Steve our UPS guy asked me on the third day why we needed three identical microwaves.
Last September I got a smallish box wrapped all about with green plastic tape that had white xmas trees and snowmen all over it, and a carefully written note in Sharpie marker that said "Don't ask me, it's all we had." Merry Xmas, sorry it's late! Here's your suture removal kits and that 18Fr catheter insertion tray (with 2000ml leak proof urine drain bag) you ordered! Ho ho ho!
For a while there the shippers were playing around with the idea of taking two boxes that ALMOST fit, then shoving one over the other so it'd make a slightly larger, much shabbier and weaker box and then taping them together with about half a mile of industrial strength packing tape, all with the intent of giving an extra six cubic inches of storage. That was always fun because I had to use a chainsaw to rip through the mummy layers of packing tape just to get into the thing, and by that time the supplies would be expired so I'd have to order more.
On days it's not that or an appliance box then they've packed four small items in the biggest box they could find, like something slightly smaller than a side-by-side fridge box, then filled the airspace with a Sunday edition New York Times worth of blank newsprint paper. The past few days they must have changed their eco-friendly processes because the last week's worth of shipments I've gotten have been packed with clear plastic airbags in strings of three or four, like football-sized sausages. Mother Nature loves the one thing She can't make for Herself--plastic bags.
So with this in mind I opened a box the other day expecting the worst. Was it going to be the wrong shipment entirely? Had I, by accident, received a case of coude catheters destined for some nursing home in Guam? Or was there going to be enough pale cream newsprint paper in there to wrap all the fish in the Pike's Peak Fish Market? No. Something better. Something wondrous.
I was astounded. It was packed perfectly. There was NO airspace, no extra tape, not even anything crushed to make everything fit right. I think whoever packed that box must be a PRO at Tetris. Either that or so profoundly anal retentive that they have their house alphabetized.
Speaking of work, here's one more ringer for you. We get a lot of periodicals sent to us by various medical industry folks. We get Ostomy Monthly (with all sorts of grotesque centerfolds,) Ambulance Chasing For Fun And Profit Quarterly, and a whole hospital bed full of local magazines, all wanting to sell us advert space. And in the midst of all that, we get Caring magazine.
Now, I've perused a few issues while on the throne, in between games of Jewel Quest on my cellular phone, and it's not a bad read. It's all happy sappy tales of how people in the health care industry have made Big Bucks and how you can too, and it's always got a feel-good story or two about someone surviving a bear mauling or an unplanned meeting with a grain thresher, but the December issue caught me right from the front cover.
As you can see it's all about this uber-caring individual Dominic Avellani who is a volunteer teacher of some sort, and surrounding him are his, I assume, students; a mixed bag of folks. The guy in the blue t-shirt and grey pullover looks like he's learned to pose for a Sears catalog, the Russian matron at the front left looks like her babushka is too tight, and the guy just over Mr. Avellani's left shoulder is so posed I'm astounded he's real and not a store window mannequin.
What I want to draw your attention to, however, is the young feller in the white long-sleeve with the smug look on his face and the garish yellow and black meshback on his head.
He's pretty happy. He's getting his photo on the cover of a widely-read industry periodical. He's got a pretty good spot there behind his teacher, the man whom, we can only hope, is proud of his pupil and their accomplishments together as a team.
I wish I could have gotten a clearer shot of the magazine, but I can only do so much. What I CAN say, though, with certainty is that in person, the logo on the hat is readable if you look at it closely.
Try as I might I couldn't find any more references to chicken farming in this issue.